<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Both Alike in Dignity by onehorneddemon</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27794803">Both Alike in Dignity</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/onehorneddemon/pseuds/onehorneddemon'>onehorneddemon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Addams Family (TV 1964), Addams Family - All Media Types, The Addams Family (Movies - Sonnenfeld)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(for reference the author of this fic is also trans), F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Gender Dysphoria, Light Angst, Pre-Relationship, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Underage Smoking, anyone who doesn't believe Gomez and Morticia are trans are just fooling themselves, just look at them. they're too wonderful to be cis., t4t</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:02:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,767</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27794803</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/onehorneddemon/pseuds/onehorneddemon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Deaf to her sister's pleas, she stopped in front of the grave, and directly across from the devilish debonair. Neither of them spoke, neither of them addressed the corpse at their feet. It was as if the rest of the world had fallen away. Slowly, he lowered his cigar, jaw hanging slack. He was truly beautiful. She tried desperately to still her hammering heart, her hand resting just below the collar of her black dress. His pupils dilated. Her heart beat faster still.</p><p>Those wild, glittering brown eyes.</p><p>They reminded her of something.<br/>_____</p><p>From the moment they laid eyes on each other at that fateful funeral, Morticia and Gomez were inexplicably drawn to each other. Unbeknownst to them both, this is not the first time they have met, and they have more in common than they realize.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gomez Addams/Morticia Addams</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Boy, A Girl, An Open Grave</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic is my own trans little take on the meeting of the most iconic couple in the world, heavily referencing both the films and the sitcom. There are flashbacks in which Morticia and Gomez are both referred to by their deadnames, and though it pained me to even make up deadnames for them at all, it was important to me to write about trans childhoods, including the parts where you don't totally have the words to express your trans-ness. I just have a lotta feelings about these two. Anyway! I hope you enjoy :')</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The funeral was held on a gray, cloudy morning- perfect seance weather. As much as she enjoyed an excuse to clad herself in black and stand in a graveyard, Morticia Frump desperately wished she was at home practicing her hexes. She was expected to socialize here, to commiserate with the many people who knew the victim of this brutal murder, but Balthazar Addams meant nothing more to her than a dead pile of flesh. Such a shame that this was her very first funeral. She had been hoping to feel something. As her mother opened her arms to embrace a sobbing Eudora Addams, she felt a firm jab in her side.</p><p>"Morticia. Go on and pay your respects," Ophelia whispered, giving her sister a gentle push towards the open grave.</p><p>"I have nothing to say," Morticia reminded her, a small frown forming on her lips. A tall man in a top hat advanced towards the grave in her place, and she let out a sigh of relief.</p><p>"Mention that the Addams family is incredibly important to mother," Ophelia encouraged. "And that you wish Balthazar safe passage on to the next life."</p><p>Morticia shook her head. "That's beautiful, but <em> you </em> can say that when you pay <em> your </em> respects."</p><p>Ophelia rolled her eyes slightly. She opened her mouth to make a snappy retort, but stopped, eyes locked on something in the distance. "Oh no. Don't look."</p><p>She did look, and what Morticia saw took her breath away. On the other side of the grave stood a broad-shouldered man who was impeccably groomed- his hair was combed flat to his head, his jet black suit was crisp, and his face was cleanly shaven save for the handsome pencil mustache sitting above his upper lip. He looked into the grave with glittering brown eyes, tightening a scarf around his neck like a noose as if it wasn’t the middle of July. Despite the gravity of the situation, she noticed a small smile spread across his face, and he chuckled to himself, puffing casually at a long brown cigar.</p><p>She was immediately attracted to him.</p><p>"Morticia!" Ophelia scolded. "I said <em> don't! </em>"</p><p>"My apologies," Morticia murmured, her attention straying from her sister with every second she looked at him. "Who is that man?"</p><p>Ophelia let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "That," she muttered, "is Gomez Addams. Not only is he someone that Mother has suggested that I <em> marry </em> , but he happens to be one of the <em> suspects </em>."</p><p>As her sister spoke his name, the man across the grave lifted his head.</p><p>They locked eyes.</p><p>Morticia froze.</p><p>He removed the cigar from his lips, coughing slightly as he exhaled a cloud of dark smoke. Comforting, she thought, that he was as shocked by her as she was by him.</p><p>Compelled by something magnetic within her, she advanced towards the grave.</p><p>"I've told Mother that I won't marry him until his name is cleared, but she thinks I'll be fine either way. Of course, I will, because if he tries anything I'll kill him first, but it would be nice if- hey!" Ophelia glared at her sister, who had not been listening to a word she was saying. "Morticia, hold on a minute!"</p><p>Deaf to her sister's pleas, she stopped in front of the grave, and directly across from the devilish debonair. Neither of them spoke, neither of them addressed the corpse at their feet. It was as if the rest of the world had fallen away. Slowly, he lowered his cigar, jaw hanging slack. He was truly beautiful. She tried desperately to still her hammering heart, her hand resting just below the collar of her black dress. His pupils dilated. Her heart beat faster still.</p><p>Those wild, glittering brown eyes.</p><p>They reminded her of something.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The event was much like any other that his mother had dragged him to- a loud, lavish party full of rich strangers milling about, dancing with each other to a live orchestra in a way that was cartoonishly stilted. Garish white and powder blue table settings, false, pasted-on smiles next to stained glass windows, caricatures of genuine interest... but all that really mattered to them was their business ventures. It was enough to make one want to drop dead- enough for him, anyhow. </p><p>His sister seemed to think otherwise.</p><p>“Laertes!” she squealed, dragging him onto the crowded dance floor. “This song- I’ve heard this one before! Pachelbel's Canon! Do you hear it?”<br/>
“Yes,” he deadpanned, not meeting her eyes. “I wish it would shoot me.”</p><p>“Oh, you’re no fun!”</p><p>Laertes let out a deep sigh. “Our ideas of fun are very, very different, Ophelia."</p><p>Ophelia pouted. “Come on! Don’t be sour just because this is an adult party- that’s exactly why it’s exciting!” She adjusted the daisies tangled in her blonde braids, pushing them so they resembled a neat wreath. “And besides- Mother isn’t the only one who brought her children with her. I’m hoping to find a nice boy to fall in love with!” She batted her eyelashes, earning her a soft chuckle from her brother.</p><p>“Good luck with that,” Laertes replied, folding his arms delicately. “Most of the boys here look older than Great Grandpa Frump. And he’s been dead for ages.”</p><p>“Not all of them! What about… uh… hmm… no, that man does look dead. Um... oh! That one?” </p><p>Ophelia pointed to a small figure, the back of their head just barely visible from behind a tall dinner table. Definitely short enough to be another child. After peering around several dancing couples, the two siblings observed the figure lift their head and emerge from behind the table. The ruffles of the deep red dress and the pair of stiff black pigtails made Ophelia’s face fall.</p><p>“Darn. It’s a girl.”</p><p>“Pity.” Laertes turned to leave, hoping to find some nice, dark corner to brood in, but his sister quickly grabbed his arm.</p><p>“Oh, but Laertes,” she said, an enormous grin on her face. “Since it’s a girl… I think <em> you </em> should talk to her.”</p><p>Laertes wrinkled his nose in distaste. “No.”</p><p>“Come on! Maybe she’ll dance with you.”</p><p>“That’s what I’m afraid of.”</p><p>“But she seems pretty.”</p><p>“I don’t like girls,” Laertes mumbled, folding his arms tightly to his chest.</p><p>“Father says you just haven’t found the right one yet,” Ophelia insisted.</p><p>Laertes tried desperately to slip away, but his sister’s grip was one of iron. The look in her eyes made him realize that if he did not give in, he would soon find himself on the floor. Her judo lessons had turned her into quite the formidable person to argue with.</p><p>“Fine…”</p><p>Ophelia squealed with delight. “Hooray! Oh, you won’t regret this Laertes, I promise!” She hiked up her frilly white dress with one hand, and firmly pushed her brother with the other, swiftly making her way across the dance floor. “I’ll just put you two together- oh, it’s like I’m a matchmaker! And then- and then I’ll find my own boy to dance with, and we’ll probably fall in love, and he’ll marry me forever and ever!” She continued guiding his reluctant body until he was face to face with the girl in pigtails, and before he could make a sarcastic retort, Ophelia had disappeared into the crowd.</p><p>Laertes turned back slowly, staring awkwardly at the girl in front of him. Suddenly very self-conscious, he smoothed down the front of his black velvet suit jacket.</p><p>“Hello.” The girl in the red dress cocked her head, her pigtails flopping to the side. She had a round face, skin far tanner than his or Ophelia’s, and the wildest brown eyes he had ever seen. “I didn’t know there were other children here.”</p><p>“My mother dragged me here,” Laertes explained. “Me and my sister both- but she just left.” He sighed. “She’s crazy, and wants me to fall in love with you at first sight, but I won’t. I don’t like girls at all.”</p><p>Despite his bluntness, the girl in front of him began to smile. This smile, he noticed, was nothing like the sick, false smiles of the businessmen surrounding them. This one was real. “Well, that’s perfect,” she said jovially. “I don’t like boys one bit.”</p><p>Laertes blinked for a moment, then gave her a slow nod of understanding. It was not often that he met someone who did not shrink at his cold demeanor, and this girl had not only stepped up, but there was something in her that he recognized within himself. He was suddenly desperate to know her, to look further into this mirror he had never been provided with. He extended his hand. “I’m Laertes.” His own name had always sounded so foreign on his tongue, but he said it anyway, hoping he would receive the girl’s name in return.</p><p>“Anjelica,” she replied, firmly shaking his hand. She spoke her name with the same hesitation he did. “Pleased to make your a quaint sense.”</p><p>“Acquaintance,” he corrected.</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“You said- you were trying to say acquaintance.”</p><p>“I was.” Anjelica paused, then flashed him another all too genuine grin. “But if you want, we can skip straight to being friends instead. It’s much easier to say.”</p><p>A small, amused smile crept onto Laertes’ face. Perhaps this girl would help him pass the time in a way that was somewhat enjoyable. “I’d like that.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Only forty-five minutes into the party, and the two children had already discovered they had quite a lot in common. The two ten year olds both had quite the affinity for all things morbid, something no adult- or child, for that matter- had previously allowed Laertes to indulge in. Anjelica, however, spoke of black widows with incredible reverence, and was overjoyed to hear that Laertes had seen one in real life.</p><p>“Mother pulled me away when I told her it was there,” he told her, perched on the edge of an empty chair. “But it wasn’t going to hurt me. It was only sitting there, being pretty.” He sighed. “I wish that I could be a spider.”</p><p>“You said you have a sister, right? So long as she has two arms and two legs, you should take them, and sew them onto yourself. Then you can make yourself into a sort of spider-person,” Anjelica suggested with a small smirk.</p><p>Laertes laughed. “That <em>would</em> be funny... I could never get away with it, though.” He sighed, remembering all of the times he had tried to pluck the dark hairs from his own arms and legs to match Ophelia’s. “Let’s not talk about my sister.”</p><p>“Okay. We can talk about more bugs instead,” Anjelica offered, fidgeting idly with one of her pigtails. “Like maggots. Ever seen maggots eating dead flesh? The way they move is very interesting.”</p><p>“No, but I’d like to,” Laertes replied thoughtfully. “I’ve been reading about the process of decay, but I don’t get a lot of chances to see it up close.” He paused. “I’ve never met a girl who likes bugs and things as much as you.”</p><p>Anjelica shrugged at him, leaning back in her chair. “Well, I’ve never met a boy who calls spiders pretty.”</p><p>“Hm. That’s fair.”</p><p>“It’s not a bad thing, though. It’s easier to talk to a boy who talks like a girl.”</p><p>Laertes’ heart began to beat at twice its usual speed. He had expected the comment to humiliate him, but the way she said it was so gentle that it made him feel safer than ever. “Do I really talk like a girl?”</p><p>“A little. You have a soft voice. It’s really not a bad thing, though. My father says I talk like a boy.”</p><p>Laertes smiled slightly, smoothing down his hair. “You sort of do.”</p><p>Anjelica beamed at him. “Good.” She swung her legs happily, staring out a tall window. “Do you see the graveyard outside?”</p><p>Laertes followed her gaze, and sure enough, there were several decorative headstones in the distance, framed delicately by the stained glass archway. “I do.”</p><p>Anjelica leaned towards him, her eyes wide and her grin stretching across her round face. “Do you want to go there?”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The pair of them snuck past all the adults, past the wide dance floor, and out the door to the wide expanse of land beside the church the party was held in. The waxing moon hung overhead, and the faint sound of the live orchestra drifted along with them as they walked amongst the graves.</p><p>"I have a graveyard in my backyard," Anjelica stated, brushing her hand over a particularly large headstone. "It may even be larger than this one."</p><p>"Do you bury family there?" Laertes asked.</p><p>Anjelica nodded. "Only family. It's so we can keep them all close."</p><p>"That sounds nice," Laertes murmured, idly running a finger over the smooth granite of the same headstone. He paused, his finger lingering over the name carved into the cold stone. "Do you ever think about dying, Anjelica?"</p><p>"Of course. Did you know that there are almost a hundred and twenty deaths around the world every single minute? Someone is dying right now, as we speak." She paused. "And now. And also now. They're dropping like flies."</p><p>Laertes hummed thoughtfully. "Yes, yes… but I meant <em> your </em> death. Do you ever think about what will happen when you die?"</p><p>Anjelica nodded slowly, taking on a much more serious expression. "Yes. All the time." There was more she wanted to say about it, but she couldn't seem to find the words.</p><p>"So do I," Laertes told her. "I have detailed funeral plans."</p><p>"You do?" Anjelica's smile returned. "Will you tell me about them?"</p><p>Laertes beamed. No one had ever been interested in his funeral plans before. "I will die young and tragically," he began. "Before I ever get the chance to become a man. I will be buried under a headstone without a name decorated with all sorts of carvings of thorns. Every flower left at my grave will wither and die, until they are all just as I like them. The entire family will cry, and Mother will deliver a eulogy. I will be buried in a black coffin, and my corpse will wear a black veil so when people look into my open casket they will have to reach inside and lift it to see my face."</p><p>Laertes paused, glancing over at Anjelica. Her sparkling brown eyes were wide, and her mouth hung open slightly. "Wow," she murmured, clearly having savored every word. "That sounds beautiful."</p><p>Despite the cool night air, Laertes' cheeks began to feel warm. "Do you really think so?"</p><p>"Definitely." Anjelica nodded. She looked deep in thought. "I never really thought to plan my funeral. But I have planned my death. I'll also die young." She chewed on her lip gently, looking up at the moon. "I want to go out in a blaze of glory. I want to die with a sword in my hand, and I want to be defending my family from some horrible, horrible people." As she spoke, she began to pace, lifting her hand as if she did indeed hold a sword in it. "They'll try to steal our fortune, but I won't let them. I'll slash their throats!" She flung her arm to the side, snarling at her invisible enemies. "And the leader, I'll stab him a hundred times in the chest!" This sentence was punctuated with several swift stabbing motions, and a ferocious look on her face. "But right before he dies… he'll grab me! And he'll pull out a dagger, and- and-" she fell to her knees, clutching at her chest. "And use his dying breath to cut out my heart!" She collapsed on the ground dramatically, lolling her tongue out, choking, sputtering, coughing, before falling completely still.</p><p>Laertes applauded, and Anjelica sprang to her feet, grinning and bowing to him. "Thank you! Thank you!"</p><p>"That was amazing," he told her, a small smile on his lips. "You'll die a hero."</p><p>"That's the plan!"</p><p>"And you'll have a big headstone, all on its own at the center of the graveyard."</p><p>Anjelica's face fell slightly, but still she nodded. "Yeah. Big, and all on its own."</p><p>The two children leaned against the granite slab beside them, neither saying a word. They each felt they knew one another far better now, and though they both hoped to learn more, a brief moment of silence seemed appropriate. The music coming from inside slowly shifted, and Laertes lifted his head, swaying to it in recognition.</p><p>"Moonlight Sonata," he murmured, breaking the silence with his gentle voice. "I know this one."</p><p>"So do I," Anjelica replied, looking through the window at the party inside. "It's in a minor key, you know. Songs are prettier that way."</p><p>Laertes smiled, closing his eyes as the faint music washed over him. "I think so too."</p><p>He opened his eyes to Anjelica staring at him in quiet reverence. It startled him, the way she was looking, big, brown eyes reflecting the half-moon in the sky. Those eyes… they were always open wide enough that he feared they might suck him in. This fear was not something he was accustomed to. He prided himself in being brave enough to face anything, calm enough to weather any storm. His mother always said that he rolled with the punches, but this punch hit harder somehow. There was so much <em> feeling </em> behind it. He squinted at Anjelica, as if to combat her extreme, and she laughed.</p><p>"You look like you want to murder me."</p><p>Laertes averted his gaze, a bit embarrassed that his thoughts had manifested on his face. "I don't. That's just how I always look."</p><p>Anjelica hummed thoughtfully. "It suits you, I think." She extended a hand. "Well, if you're not going to murder me… do you want to dance?"</p><p>It was now Laertes' turn to have wide eyes. "Dance?" he echoed.</p><p>"We don't have to if you don't want to… but I've been learning to waltz," Anjelica explained.</p><p>"I can't waltz. I don't know how."</p><p>"I'll teach you."</p><p>He hesitated for a moment. Wherever she was, Ophelia must be whooping and hollering, overjoyed that her matchmaking had somehow worked. Of course, it hadn't really. Anjelica was only asking to show off her skill to a new friend. He suddenly realized that he could not be seen with her, lest his sister assume they were <em> involved </em> somehow. He despised the notion that he would develop a crush on a girl at a party, just because he was a boy. But here, out in the graveyard, no one was there to judge them. She wouldn't judge either, not even if he made a fool of himself.</p><p>And he did want to learn how to waltz.</p><p>"Okay." He extended his hand, long, cold fingers entangling themselves with short, warm ones. "How do we start?"</p><p>Anjelica positioned Laertes' free hand on her back, resting just above the bow of her red dress. "You lead." She took one step backwards. "Just step forward with your left foot." Laertes obliged. "Now to the right, with both feet. Close your legs, like this. And there's a rhythm- one, two, three, one, two three..." </p><p>In demonstrating how to lead, Anjelica had become the leader. Laertes watched her instructions closely, and he noted that the dance may go far more smoothly if their roles were reversed.</p><p>"You should lead," he suggested, completing the box step after her demonstration.</p><p>Anjelica stopped in her tracks. "Me? But… father told me the boy always leads."</p><p>"I want you to be the boy," Laertes insisted. "I'll be the girl. You know the dance better anyways, I'll just follow you."</p><p>A slow smile spread across Anjelica's face, and she seemed to stand a little taller. This smile was tentative, far less eager than her usual grins, as if she was afraid to be too excited. Either way, it was perfectly clear that she was more than comfortable with the suggestion. "Okay." She moved Laertes' hand to rest on her shoulder, and pressed her palm to the back of his velvet suit jacket. "Here- we'll start on the next beat."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>She led the waltz expertly, and with each step, Anjelica and Laertes grew more confident. Soon, they were dancing around headstones, spinning from grave to grave with the biggest smiles on their faces.</p><p>"You learn fast," Anjelica commented, clearly quite pleased.</p><p>"Only because you lead well," Laertes replied. He did not remember ever having smiled this long. It made his face hurt. "You're good at being a gentleman."</p><p>Anjelica's eyes shone with adoration, her grin stretching across the whole of her face. The compliment clearly had given her a boost in confidence, because she began to lead Laertes into a dip he was not quite prepared for.</p><p>"Oh- wait!"</p><p>His legs slipped out from under him, and he fell hard on his back into the dirt. Anjelica quickly followed, knocking the wind out of him when she landed.</p><p>"Sorry, sorry!" Anjelica scrambled off of him, pressing her back against the nearest cross shaped headstone. She looked absolutely mortified.</p><p>Laertes, however, was unfazed. With a sister like Ophelia, it would take more than that to knock him down for good. He began to laugh, brushing dirt out of his hair. "Warn me next time. I didn't learn that move."</p><p>Anjelica let out a sheepish chuckle. "Sorry," she said again. "I got carried away." She brushed the dirt off of the knees of her white stockings. It had already stained them, but she didn't seem to care. "If it makes you feel any better, you fell very gracefully."</p><p>Laertes gave her an amused smile. "Did I?"</p><p>"Oh, yes!" Anjelica beamed. "You went like this-" She stood and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, only to dramatically fall backwards into the dirt again. When she lifted her head, her face was smudged with soil. The pair of them burst into peals of laughter. Laertes genuinely could not remember ever having this much fun at such a boring party. Hell, he could hardly remember having this much fun with anyone at all, even his sister. Perhaps he could see Anjelica again sometime, maybe when there wasn’t some ridiculous event going on. Mother was always going on about how he should be making more friends. His thoughts were suddenly interrupted when Anjelica's uncontrollable laughter became a coughing fit.</p><p>"Anjelica!" He lifted the short girl to a sitting position, patting her gently on the back. She shook for a moment, letting out coughs that seemed to rattle in her lungs, then hacked up a terrible wad of phlegm into the dirt.</p><p>"Ugh. I guess it's too cold out."</p><p>"Are you alright?"</p><p>Anjelica nodded, spitting more phlegm onto the ground. "Yeah. 'M fine. Just my bronchitis, that's all."</p><p>Laertes raised his eyebrows. "You have bronchitis?" Though it was unwise, he leaned closer. Viruses and diseases were something he was quite fascinated by. "How did you get it?"</p><p>"I'm not sure," she admitted. "Feels like I’ve had it forever, actually." Another round of coughing caused her to shake. "It's usually not so bad. The cold just makes it worse."</p><p>Laertes stood and pulled Anjelica to her feet. “Come inside, then.”</p><p>Anjelica scowled. “Absolutely not. I never get this much time outside. I’m not wasting my time in some stuffy church full of adults.” Another cough. “Just… just a little longer.”</p><p>The pleading look in her eyes made Laertes realize just how important this moment was for her. Standing on either side of this grave, the pair of them were in their own little world. There were no expectations. No one to disappoint. Anjelica would risk her health for that sort of freedom, and as Laertes looked at her, he realized that he would as well. Though he treasured the solace of his time alone, brooding in the dark, he had always wanted friends other than his sunshine-y sister. He never seemed to find the right people- never seemed to fit their strict mold, but now he had a friend who matched him perfectly. If he played his cards right, she would stay. He couldn't let anyone ruin that for him.</p><p>"All right. Just a little longer."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Morticia blinked, a sharp sob behind her jolting her back to reality. She had been staring. She quickly glanced down at the corpse and muttered something akin to paying her respects- that his life had been valued and his death was a momentous occasion (which was a lie). Gomez Addams, mysterious devil that he was, began to laugh again from across the grave. </p><p>God, that laugh. </p><p>If he was indeed a murderer, the lives he took must find new purpose in his laughter, for it was such a hearty sound that it brought warmth to her pale cheeks.</p><p>Glancing up at her, he tapped at his cigar, letting the ash fall into the grave. Balthazar's pale face was suddenly speckled with gray.</p><p>"Ashes to ashes." He chuckled at his own joke, eyes sparkling with mischief- and then he choked on the smoke of his cigar. Clearing his throat with several deep, rattling coughs, he turned away, and Morticia was left standing at the grave alone.</p><p>How strange, she thought, that a man like him made her long for her childhood. How strange that she longed for it at all, now that she had worked tirelessly for twenty-two years just to become herself. But perhaps it was companionship that she was seeking, that same recognition that she had shared with the girl in the church graveyard, and many times afterwards. The recognition of a girl who, with no effort at all, could become a perfect gentleman.</p><p>Gomez Addams was not that sort of man, no, but for a moment, she wished he was.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Two Houses</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Boosted the rating of this up to Teen because this chapter contains some underage smoking (how can you blame Gomez though he's smoked since he was five), and I think as this fic progresses there'll be some light violence. You know, Addams style. I'm aware that I tagged this with fluff, those things can coexist I think :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Damn it all. He couldn't even go to one simple funeral without his bronchitis flaring up. Gomez Addams inhaled the mist from the vaporizer, a few stray coughs still rattling their way out of him. “Thank you, Lurch,” he mumbled to the butler operating the contraption from beside his chair. Another particularly violent cough suddenly had him doubled over and shaking. He struggled to understand why anyone thought he was capable of murder like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then again, he had always hated Balthazar. Hell, he even went to the funeral just to laugh in his cold, dead face. Serves the bastard right- he was a conservative. If he had the strength to wield a machete in the cold of the night, he would have certainly done him in. But alas. Someone else had gotten to him first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Phlegm!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gomez lifted his head as his mother stormed into the room. "Where? Did I ruin the carpet again?" he asked sheepishly, trying desperately to stifle any more coughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, not yours- </span>
  <em>
    <span>cousin</span>
  </em>
  <span> Phlegm! I just got a call. It's been confirmed- he was Balthazar's murderer! They've just found him dead with the murder weapon in his hand, suffocated by his own saliva. He's being cremated tomorrow."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gomez grinned. "Good ol' cousin Phlegm! I knew he'd come through for us. May his memory be a blessing."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'd advise you not to be so overjoyed. We have company coming over later that happened to care for Balthazar,” Eudora Addams warned. “We're lucky enough to have cleared your name so quickly."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"When you say they happened to care for Balthazar, I certainly hope all they valued him for was his money," Gomez muttered. "Otherwise I'll have Lurch stop them at the door."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tall butler grunted in agreement beside him, pushing a particularly forceful pump of air into the vaporizer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, Gomez, don't be like that," Eudora chided. "Balthazar had many good qualities besides his fortune."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gomez groaned. "Name one."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"His very best quality," Eudora replied with a sly smile, "is that he died before he reached his thirties. He also gave me an excuse for a good cry this morning. Nothing like some unholy wailing to start your day."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gomez gave his mother a crooked smile. Though she was occasionally a bit pushy with him, it was good to know she was on his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Either way, you're right- it was only a business connection, but choose your words carefully, she does still mourn the loss. I'm calling over Hester Frump- you remember Hester, don't you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gomez nodded. "Ah, yes, the one from the dinner parties… Fester had a rhyme about her: Mrs. Frump, Mrs. Frump, your face looks just like my rump!" He let out a laugh which slowly devolved into a small coughing fit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Gomez, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please.</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry. Continue."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She'll be bringing her daughter along," Eudora informed him. "Ophelia. And she's of age to be married.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh, is she? Good for her,” Gomez replied, leaning further into the mist of his vaporizer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you would like her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm-hm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you ought to be considering marriage yourself.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>His brow furrowed. “Marriage? Why?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“As my only son-”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Gomez glared at his mother. “I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>your only son. Fester is still out there.” He coughed, his entire body shaking. “Somewhere. And someday, he will come home.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Eudora let out a soft sigh, glancing at the portrait of her eldest son on the wall. What irony. Once, Fester Addams </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>been her only son, but he had been missing for four years now. Ever since that debutante ball, Gomez had said only one thing: ‘He’ll be back.’ At first it was with a smile. His brother could always take a joke, and soon he would return to put dynamite under his bed, or rig the hall bathroom with bear traps. Over the years, his smile faded. It became more of a mantra. ‘He’ll be back. He has to come back.’ Fester was the eldest. He was meant to be married first, he was meant to inherit the Addams manor when Mama finally embraced death. He couldn’t just go on without him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As my only </span>
  <em>
    <span>present</span>
  </em>
  <span> son,” Eudora corrected softly, her words heavy, “I think it’s high time you found someone to keep you company. It can’t just be me, you, and the ghosts forever.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Gomez shook his head, pushing thoughts of his brother to the back of his mind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’ll be back.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “It won’t be.” He clapped a hand over his butler’s shoulder, giving his mother a small smile. “We have Lurch! And Thing!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lurch gave Gomez a gentle pat on the hand, humming low in his throat. The new hire was practically part of the family by now, and he, Gomez, and Thing spent most of their time fencing around the house. The three of them would be happy bachelors for life if they had anything to say about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least promise you’ll try to take interest in Ophelia,” Eudora pleaded. “Hester is very eager to have her married, and I just know she’ll like you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gomez sighed. “I’ll be friendly, but no promises.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Within the next few hours, Hester Frump had arrived at the Addams manor. Unable to pry her son or the butler away from the vaporizer in the living room, she answered the door herself. “Hester! Come in, come in! How was the drive over?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Dreadful,” the taller woman replied, adjusting her hat. “The road was riddled with nasty potholes!”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Eudora laughed. “Good, good! Did you catch the one in the driveway? It’s my very favorite.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hester gave her friend a small, polite nod, a hint of a smile gracing her stern face. Though they didn’t seem to share the exact same sense of humor, it was clear that they still appreciated each other. “Seems you’ve recovered from the funeral.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well of course- it was wonderful to clear my son’s name so quickly! I’m sure you’re pleased it wasn’t him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I certainly am- but no one is as pleased as my Ophelia!” Hester glanced behind her with a fond smile. Her eldest daughter leapt up the front steps on delicate feet, tossing daisy petals everywhere she stepped. She beamed at her mother, then at Eudora, greeting her with a sing-song voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Mrs. Addams! Wonderful news about Gomez, isn’t it? Now that I know he’s not a cold-blooded killer, I’d love to meet him!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eudora beamed. “Yes, of course- he’s in the living room. Come inside, both of you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ophelia quickly bustled into the living room, and Hester gave Eudora a small smile. “She hardly agreed to this before you called with the news about Phlegm, but after that she cheered right up! Poor dear, she has a terrible fear that love will end in tragedy for her. Gets absolutely murderous when men aren’t trustworthy, if you know what I mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, don’t you worry!” Eudora assured her, leading her inside. “My boy is as trustworthy as ever- isn’t that right, Gomez?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Gomez responded with the most disgusting coughing fit on earth. Ophelia was a bit too eager to greet him, and the bouquet of daisies she shoved into his face was most unfavorable to his collapsing bronchial tubes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here! For you, fine gentleman! Pleasure to finally meet you- I’m Ophelia Frump! I saw you at the funeral, I’m so glad you’re not a murderer!” She extended her arm for a handshake as he struggled with the hefty bouquet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gomez simply shook his head, stifling his coughs. She was certainly enthusiastic, he noted as he took her hand. “Oh, no- no murder for me. I’m too young.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wonderful! But remember- if you get any funny ideas…” Her grip on his hand tightened, and without any warning, she judo-flipped him clean out of his chair and onto his back, knocking the wind out of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep. Okay. Message received,” Gomez groaned, his teeth gritted in agony.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hester smiled fondly at her daughter, oblivious to Gomez’s pain. “That’s my girl.” After a moment, she glanced around the room, her smile disappearing. “Hold on a tick. Ophelia, where is your sister?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought she was with you, Mother!” Ophelia replied, pushing the daisies further towards Gomez. He sneezed, petals flying everywhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well she was, up until- ah! </span>
  <em>
    <span>There</span>
  </em>
  <span> she is!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a loud growl, and a tall, dark figure struggled through the back door, tugging hard at a leash. “Kitty, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that femur doesn’t belong to you! Drop it… come on, drop it!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kitty, who was less of a cat and more of a lion cub, padded up beside her before dropping the bone at her feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good Kitty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment she turned around, Gomez’s heart nearly stopped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was her. The girl from the funeral. He had momentarily forgotten about that pale, mysterious woman and her long, dark braids, but when they locked eyes again, suddenly nothing else in the world mattered. He cleared his throat, rising from the floor like a corpse re-animated to greet her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Gomez Addams.” He extended his hand, offering her a small smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I know. My sister has told me about you,” the girl replied. She paused, then took his hand. Her fingertips were cool to the touch, a soothing tonic for his fiery blood. “I’m Morticia Frump.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Morticia. A woman named after death itself. The sound of her voice gave him chills- a cold embrace that was almost familiar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a beautiful name.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anjelica pulled her coat tightly around herself, her eyes scanning the old church graveyard. Laertes had promised to meet her at exactly seven, and it seemed as if he wasn’t here yet. She perched on top of a particularly large gravestone, swinging her legs idly as she waited. A part of her worried that she would be waiting forever, but after the party, he had sworn they would reconnect. The graveyard was apparently within walking distance for the both of them, and being next to a place of worship, it was something they had ignored until the previous night. As she looked off into the distance, a dark figure emerged from the mist. Anjelica smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you wouldn’t come.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Of course I came.” Laertes stopped beside her, a single hand on the hip of his deep purple slacks. “I keep all my promises.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. So do I.” She hopped down from the gravestone, beaming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a very big coat for a summer night.” Laertes remarked, leaning to inspect one heavy wool sleeve. “Is it for your bronchitis?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anjelica nodded. “Yep! It’s so I can stay out longer.” She flashed Laertes a mischievous grin. “Plus, I can store stuff in it.” With a flourish, she produced a long brown cigar from her pocket, along with a small matchbox.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laertes raised an eyebrow. “Can you smoke?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep!” Anjelica puffed out her chest proudly. “Been stealing father’s cigars since I was five years old. Mama helped a little, but it was mostly me.” She took the cigar between her teeth, removing a match and flicking it against the striking strip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But don’t cigars make bronchitis worse?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No way!” Anjelica shook her head, touching the lit match to the tip of her cigar. The flame licked at her fingertips, and she winced, shaking it out and dropping the charred match to the ground. “It’s like this-” She paused, taking a drag from the cigar that was very impressive for a ten year old, and exhaling a dark cloud of smoke. “See, the air outside is cold, and cold air makes my bronchitis worse. So I warm my throat with the cigar, and that fixes it!” She coughed, but only slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laertes squinted slightly at her. It seemed that he doubted her explanation, but he didn’t know enough about cigars to dispute it. “Okay. If you say so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want one? I have more.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’d better not. But thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugged. “More for me, then!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pair of them were silent for a moment, leaning against the rectangular slab of granite nearest to them. Anjelica blew out large clouds of smoke, sputtering and coughing only occasionally. She realized, after a moment, that she was taking larger drags than usual in an effort to impress the boy beside her. What on earth compelled her to do that, she wondered? She never cared about impressing boys before. Of course, Laertes was no ordinary boy. He was different. Softer around the edges, but with a sharp, cutting wit. She admired that immensely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a moment, Laertes broke the silence. "If the cold air hurts you, why don't we just meet inside?" he inquired. "The graveyard is halfway between us, right? You could take me to your house."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anjelica shook her head. "No. No way."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laertes frowned, folding his arms. "Why not?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why not? Where to even begin? For one, every friend Anjelica had invited to her house had run off screaming, leaving her feeling horribly estranged. She tried everything to make them comfortable- she showed them her pet alligator, she got them leftover fried eel from the refrigerator, she even let them sit in her father's authentic Spanish inquisition torture chair. Despite it all, nobody stuck around for very long. Perhaps Laertes would be different, but then there was Fester to worry about. Though her parents tried to dote on them equally, her older brother had always been the favorite of the family. She was insanely jealous of him. The thirteen year old had an electric personality- literally- as well as all the boyish charm that Anjelica wished to emulate. He had even gotten a better name. Fester- to rot, the fascinating and eternal process of decay that brings everyone together. Her mother told Anjelica that she was named after the horrific biblical angels, the ones with interlocking wheels of eyeballs and wings engulfed in fire, but she didn't care. Fester would prove to be superior every time, and she didn't care to see him steal her new friend away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Home's… complicated," she mumbled, kicking at the dirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laertes nodded slowly. "I understand." He sighed, seemingly lost in thought. "Mine is too."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't want you to meet my family."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Me neither."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Especially not my brother."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The same goes for my sister."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anjelica took a long drag from her cigar, blowing smoke into the wind. She coughed again, then firmly cleared her throat. "I don't care that it's cold at night. If it's the only time we can meet, I'll meet you here every single weekend. I want this to be our secret place. No families, no nothing. Just us, like at the party." She turned to look at Laertes, her big brown eyes pleading for him to agree.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tall boy pressed his lips together for a moment, then nodded. "All right. But only if you promise to go inside when your bronchitis gets really bad. It would take so much effort to bury you if you died."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anjelica grinned. "Hooray!" She pushed herself off of the stiff gravestone, leaping forward with newfound vigor. "Now, enough questions! Let's play while the moon is still out!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laertes gave her an amused smile. "Okay. What do you want to play?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, well, normally I'd play with my toys at home… but I didn't bring any daggers. Or rope. Or rusty pliers." She frowned. "I should have brought those in my pockets instead of fifteen cigars."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laertes laughed. "Don't you have any normal toys? Like dolls?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I used to," Anjelica mused. "But they all died tragically in a fire I set on purpose. The pliers are much more durable!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laertes' smile only grew, his eyes glittering in the darkness. "That's true. Well, do you know any games we can play without toys?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anjelica hesitated for a moment. "Do you want to play house?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The look of distaste on the boy's face spoke for him, but he answered anyway. "I can't stand house. My sister always makes me be the uncle of her two little dolls when we play. She never lets me be the mother, because she says boys can't be mothers, but the mother is the only one who gets to do anything fun."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll let you be the mother."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laertes' eyes lit up. "Really?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anjelica nodded. "Only if you let me be the father. My brother does the same thing to me. He says I have to be an aunt that's come to visit, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> gets to be the father. I thought killing the dolls would stop it, but now he gets to be a father at a </span>
  <em>
    <span>funeral!</span>
  </em>
  <span> It's not fair!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laertes beamed at her. "I think you'd make a very good father. You already sound just like a boy without even trying."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was that feeling again- the flutter of little bat wings in her stomach. Fester, reprehensible teenager that he was, would say that this was love, but she knew it was different- or at least part of it. This was the feeling she got when she first stole her father's cigars on her own, the feeling she got when she wore his shirts and neckties when he wasn't looking. The very same feeling that made her giggle with glee when people mistook her for her brother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then it's settled," she stated, chest puffed out with pride. "Our house is here, in this graveyard. Like my house, but better. You're the mother, I'm the father."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And because we have no dolls, all our children are dead," Laertes added. "That way we can make up a funeral for them here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anjelica was bursting at the seams with joy. Playing house had never been this exciting… but something was missing. "We need names. New ones. Nobody's father is named Anjelica."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's true," Laertes replied. "Oh, and we need a family name as well. Let me think..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anjelica glanced at the headstone they were leaning on for inspiration. "How 'bout Astin?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hm. Seems plain. Why Astin?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anjelica flashed Laertes a mischievous grin. "Sound it out slowly, and hiss the first part like a snake. There's a naughty word in it. If we make that our family name, we get to say it all the time without getting into trouble."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laertes considered this for a moment. "Astin. Asssss-tin." He snickered. "Okay. I'm convinced."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hooray! Mister and Missus Astin, at 666 Graveyard Street! And my first name… my first name will be…" Anjelica trailed off and chewed on her cigar thoughtfully. She had to choose a name to rival Fester's. Something rotten. Something dramatic. Something that would strike fear into the hearts of those who mocked her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Repelli. Yes! Repelli Astin! At your service!" She grinned, giving Laertes a little bow. "And you, Missus Astin? What are you going to be called?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think my first name will be Hippolyta," Laertes stated with a smile. "Like the queen of the Amazons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course. Leave it to Laertes to choose something brilliant. He could be queen of the Amazons any time he wanted to. "Hippolyta," she echoed, nodding slowly. The name was long, and heavy on her tongue, but for him she would practice it every day until she could pronounce it perfectly. "That's beautiful."</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gomez was jolted back to reality by a pair of sharp claws in his leg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh! No, no, Kitty! Down!" Morticia tugged at the black leash, coaxing the restless lion cub to dislodge itself from Gomez's leg. She looked mortified. "I'm so sorry- Kitty Cat hasn't been on a proper walk today, so he's a bit fussy."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gomez smiled through the pain, only wincing slightly when the claws were finally retracted. For a girl like Morticia, he would take that piercing pain a hundred times. "Oh, don't worry, I don't mind." He looked down at the lion, then back to her, grinning. "Have you tried walking him through the graveyard? He can have that femur he was chewing on earlier, and plenty more bones too. Cousin Blob never wanted his."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Morticia smiled, a slight glint in her eyes that felt so familiar to him. "That would be wonderful. I love graveyards."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll show you around!" Gomez stepped forward eagerly, but no sooner had he finished speaking than an iron grip secured itself around his wrist, twisting his arm behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Gotcha! Safe from the clutches of that mean little kitten!" Ophelia cried proudly. Gomez couldn't quite tell if she was talking about the lion, or her sister. "Come- now that you've met my whole family, I want to learn everything about you!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gomez flashed Morticia an apologetic glance as he was dragged away by the powerful woman. She looked at him for a moment longer before disappearing out the back door as quickly as she had come in. Placed down safely in front of his vaporizer again after a painful coughing fit, Gomez struggled through Ophelia's incessant babbling, nodding and smiling when he felt it was appropriate. He wanted to try and connect with her, he really did, but no matter how hard he tried to hone his focus, his thoughts drifted back to </span>
  <em>
    <span>her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Morticia.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Morticia.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Morticia.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Like My Mirror</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Man it's been a while since I updated this, but hopefully I'll have time to write more chapters soon! This chapter title is inspired by a lyric in From Eden by Hozier, I listen to that song a lot while I'm writing for this fic :')</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She tried to give them space. She really did. Mother wouldn’t allow her to even consider distracting Gomez from Ophelia. However, no matter how Morticia occupied herself that day, Gomez seemed to find her. She wouldn’t lie and say she wasn’t overjoyed by this. Each time she saw him, her heart leapt in her chest. He would smile, ask what she was up to, and listen with such genuine interest no matter what she spoke about. That delightful sparkle in his eyes made her forget all about her mother’s warning. She told him about how she came to adopt Kitty from a neglectful circus, and he gazed happily at the lion cub, allowing him to bat at his shoelaces. </p><p>“I love animals,” he told her. “When I was young, I used to have an octopus.”</p><p>Morticia’s face lit up. “What a lovely pet! I’ve always been interested in cephalopods.”</p><p>“Fascinating creatures, aren’t they?” Gomez replied happily. “Smart, too! But nowhere near as brilliant or fascinating as you are.”</p><p>Morticia was sure that was the deepest she had blushed in a very long time.</p><p>Later in the day, he caught her making paper dolls. She never could get the heads or arms right, but he happened to prefer them that way. </p><p>“They remind me of my cousins!” He pointed at the one in the middle with three legs. “Cousin Droop looked just like that. And all the rest with two heads look like little clones of Cousin Bog!" He grinned. "Bog always did want clones."</p><p>"You have a very interesting family," Morticia told him with a smile, feeling better already about her craftsmanship. "I'd love to know more about them."</p><p>"Really?" Gomez chuckled. "This is usually the part where people ask me to change the subject."</p><p>"And why would they ever do that? Learning about family is the best way to get to know somebody," Morticia insisted.</p><p>He beamed at her. "I'll tell you all about mine if you tell me about yours."</p><p>Gomez never did get a chance to talk about his own family, but he was perfectly happy just to listen to Morticia right up until the moment Ophelia yanked him away.</p><p>Still later Morticia ran into him as he was rifling through a drawer. He perked up immediately at her presence, but when she asked him what he was looking for, he had no real answer.</p><p>"Ophelia sent me to fetch... something."</p><p>"Did she?"</p><p>"Well… I told her I was going to fetch something."</p><p>Morticia nodded. "And did you find it?"</p><p>Gomez shrugged, shutting the drawer and locking eyes with her. "Not really. Does it matter?"</p><p>A smile played on her lips as she realized what was going on. He wasn't looking for anything at all… except, perhaps, for her. "No. No, it doesn't. But do get back to her soon, she'll be wondering where you are."</p><p>His gaze became more intense, and he repeated himself, his voice purposeful, but gentle. "Does it matter?"</p><p>Morticia found herself at a loss for words. It certainly did matter, it was her sister's feelings at stake… but she said absolutely nothing. Instead, she just stared at him. There was something so comforting in his eyes. So safe. So familiar.</p><p>"Your eyes are beautiful," he breathed. It seems he was thinking the same thing she was.</p><p>"So are yours." She paused. "I'd paint them if I had the time. Such a lovely, fiery shade of brown."</p><p>"Paint them?" Gomez echoed, seemingly emerging from some sort of trance.</p><p>Morticia nodded. "Not an exact resemblance, but they're very inspiring." She glanced at the floor. "I hope you don't mind me saying so. I haven't had the muse to paint in months. Half my works are sitting unfinished in my attic."</p><p>Gomez absolutely lit up. “An artist! And here I thought you couldn’t get any more talented!”</p><p>Morticia blushed, placing a hand over her cheek in a feeble attempt to hide it. “You may not like my work. It’s a bit… abstract."</p><p>"But that's my favorite kind! It's astounding how much one can say with so little." He sighed. "I envy abstract artists. They're geniuses, every one of them. You especially."</p><p>"You haven't even seen my work!" Morticia protested, but even so, there was a small twinkle in her eye.</p><p>"No, but I already know you're a genius. If you'd show me one of your paintings sometime I'm sure that would prove it!"</p><p>“Do you flatter all women you meet this way?” she asked, her joking tone a feeble attempt to mask how genuinely flustered he could make her.</p><p>“No,” he replied, and the gentle look he gave her made her absolutely weak in the knees. “Just you.”</p><p>She began to run into him purposefully after that. It was selfish, and she knew it, but the smile on Gomez's face erased her shame immediately. The more they spoke, the more they realized just how much they had in common. Their humor, their beliefs, their taste in food and clothing, all of it seemed to match up so well. Though Gomez was a bit more erratic, Morticia shared his energy deep beneath the surface, and he drew it out of her better than anyone else could. When they started a conversation, neither of them could find any reason to stop until somebody- usually Ophelia- came to pry them away from one another. Their minds seemed perfectly in sync. By lunchtime Morticia had already begun to wonder what on Earth she would ever do without him.</p><p><em> “Perhaps it’s for the best that he’s marrying Ophelia,” </em> she thought to herself. <em> “She’ll come to visit every now and again, and hopefully she’ll bring him along. A surefire way to keep him in my life.” </em>A small part of her cried out in protest, but she squashed it in order to feel happy for her sister. The pair of them did look rather cute together, even while Ophelia was force-feeding poor Gomez some strange pile of leafy greens that he barely seemed able to swallow.</p><p>“Gomez! They’re good for you!”<br/><br/>“Can’t we at least put dressing on it? Blood vinaigrette? Anything?”</p><p>“You mean blood orange!”</p><p>“No, I… I mean blood.”</p><p>Ophelia laughed, high and pitchy like a little bell. “You’re so silly! I want you to appreciate the natural, earthy flavor!”</p><p>Gomez grimaced. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”</p><p>After lunch, Morticia found Gomez by his vaporizer, a cigar hanging from his lips. A thick cloud hung around him, partially mist and partially smoke. The poor man looked absolutely miserable. She made her way over to him, craning her neck as if looking at things from a different angle would explain his behavior.</p><p>"Forgive me if I'm overstepping, but… doesn't the smoke affect your bronchitis?"</p><p>Gomez sighed, taking the cigar between his fingers and tapping off the ash. "Not like it used to."</p><p>Morticia let out a soft chuckle, and Gomez's gloomy expression finally began to disappear.</p><p>"The smoke doesn't seem to make much of a difference, really," he mused. "I cough either way."</p><p>"But are you sure the smoking hasn't worsened it somehow?"</p><p>Gomez shrugged "Eh… I've thought about it. Mama says stress is the real cause. Thing says it may be the smoke. Lurch thinks it's both. Either way, it's not going away anytime soon. I've had it my whole life."</p><p>"How awful," Morticia murmured, shaking her head.</p><p>"Right now it's the least of my troubles," Gomez replied, slumping over the vaporizer again. "Forgive my bluntness, but if your sister feeds me any more strange raw leaves I think I'll lose my mind."</p><p>Morticia grimaced. "I'm so sorry… Ophelia expresses excitement a bit intensely."</p><p>"You can say that again."</p><p>"She just likes you, really. I think you're a lovely couple."</p><p>Gomez groaned, taking a long drag from his cigar before doubling over into a coughing fit. He inhaled deeply from his vaporizer, clearing his throat. "Wish I could say the same."</p><p>Morticia raised an eyebrow. "What's the matter? I thought you wanted to marry her."</p><p>Gomez shook his head, taking another puff from his cigar. "It was Mama's idea. She's friends with your mother, and she wants me married more than anything. Ophelia was the first girl she thought of… and she's all wrong for me." He suddenly looked panicked. "Don't tell her I said that. Please. I think she'll kill me."</p><p>"I won't," Morticia assured him, slowly mulling over this new information. Ophelia was a lovely girl, and though she and Gomez weren't exactly alike, she had assumed he was skittish because he wasn't as publicly affectionate as her dear sister. To discover that he didn't like her at all… that changed everything. She was devastated for her sister, of course- Ophelia had such terrible luck when it came to love- but a small, selfish part of her hoped that maybe this wonderful man could be hers instead.</p><p><em> "Or perhaps he'll learn to love her with time," </em> she thought to herself. Gomez coughed again, exhaling a large cloud of smoke with an absolutely dismal expression on his face. She sighed, looking away. No sense in hoping for a ridiculous change of plans. She only liked him because he seemed familiar. Nothing more.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>After three years of knowing Anjelica, Laertes had caught on to her smoking habits. On good days, it was something she did to pass the time, always tossing the cigar aside before ever finishing it. On bad days, she would plow through several at once, muttering to herself and scorching her fingertips with the burning ash. Today, the graveyard was hazy enough for there to have been a small forest fire. She must be in a dreadful mood. Just as expected, he found his friend crouched on the ground, coat wrapped tightly around herself and not one, but two cigars between her teeth.</p><p>"Hello."</p><p>Anjelica jumped slightly, but her expression softened the moment she saw Laertes. "You startled me." She stood, grinning as she took a cigar in each hand. "I like that."</p><p>"I scared the angst right out of you, I think," Laertes remarked, arms folded neatly across his chest. He paused. "But maybe not entirely. What has you so upset?"</p><p>Anjelica laughed. "Who said I was upset?" All it took was for Laertes to gesture to both live cigars in her hands for her to sigh, defeated, and nod slowly. "Fine. You got me. But I swear I'm not just being dramatic." She took one of the cigars between her teeth again, puffing dark clouds of smoke. "It's… there's something wrong with me. With my body."</p><p>Laertes let out a soft hum, nodding slowly. "Besides the bronchitis?"</p><p>"Yeah." She groaned, taking a long drag from both cigars at once before coughing out a long stream of smoke. "I couldn't sleep at all last night. Not even on the nail bed in the basement. I got this pain in my stomach, like someone was twisting a knife in me. My head ached… I started coughing up blood…"</p><p>"Fascinating," Laertes murmured, his eyes widening. He didn't say it so as not to upset his already distraught friend, but he envied this sort of pain. As someone who had trouble connecting with his own grief, he often longed for something intense, something that could actually bring him to tears for once in his life. Ophelia seemed to cry without a problem, but he could never seem to get the tears to come. The well was dry.</p><p>"I thought so too until this morning," Anjelica muttered angrily. "Turns out I don't have anything exciting, like tuberculosis. It's not even an illness. It's…" She trailed off, her voice trembling, and she gripped each cigar as if she was going to snap them in two. "I'm… I'm bleeding. Not bleeding, but... <em> bleeding </em> bleeding."</p><p>"Menstruating," Laertes stated, his eyes still wide. The word made Anjelica cringe.</p><p>"Yeah. That."</p><p>"That's normal," Laertes assured her. "My sister started her cycle a few years ago." He frowned. "Although, she didn't cough up any blood."</p><p>"That's not what I'm worried about," Anjelica said glumly. "Do you know what this <em> means </em> ? I'm becoming a <em> woman. </em>"</p><p>The disdain in her voice caught Laertes by surprise. He hadn't taken his friend for a misogynist. "What's wrong with that? Women are amazing."</p><p>"I <em> know </em>, but not when they're me!" Anjelica threw both cigars to the ground, gripping at his friend's shoulders. "Look at me, Laertes. I can't become a woman! It'll be just like when I play house with my brother, I'll have to be the aunt forever! I'll have to wear these- these stupid dresses, but ones with corsets and plunging necklines, and I'll grow a chest!"</p><p>"Breasts?"</p><p>"God, please, don't make me think about them... people will start calling me 'miss' and I'll have to curtsy and act like everything is fine… but everything is going to change." She buried her face in her hands.</p><p>Laertes felt his heart ache for his friend. He had been trying not to think about their coming of age, but Anjelica's distress reminded him of the reality of his own situation. She was becoming a woman, and he was becoming a man. He had planned to be dead long before that happened, his youthful body wrapped up neatly in a coffin, but each morning he woke up with new, horrible changes. He had growing pains like never before, the hair on his arms grew darker still, and worst of all, his voice was cracking. An auditory representation of his shattering facade. He hardly wanted to diminish Anjelica's pain, but he would much rather bleed than embrace his new body.</p><p>"I wish I could take your pain for you. I wish we could switch."</p><p>Anjelica hesitated for a moment, then nodded at him, pulling out a fresh cigar. "Me too."</p><p>There was a moment of deafening silence. Both of them longed for some sort of escape, and Laertes opened the only door available to them.</p><p>"My dear Repelli, if you've been wounded, you'll have to get stitches."</p><p>A small smile tugged at Anjelica's lips. The name she chose for her character seemed to bring her comfort. "No, my darling Hippolyta, I will bleed out! Like a man!" She stood a little taller.</p><p>Laertes began to relax as well, falling into character. This game was the only place that he truly felt like himself anymore. "My dearest husband, wounded in battle… you fought off those thieves so wonderfully, but they got you in the end."</p><p>Anjelica's smile grew wider still. "As strong as I am, I will never be immune to swords. Do not try to save me, I'm already too far gone."</p><p>"Repelli, darling, do you want to die without me? How could you bleed out and not stab me as well?"</p><p>"Of course, my sweet wife. We will die together! We will join our many children in the grave!" Anjelica put out her cigar on the gravestone behind them, then raised it as if it was a dagger. "Are you prepared to taste my blade?"</p><p>"I was born ready and I will die ready." Laertes puffed out his chest with a smile. "Kill me, Repelli."</p><p>Anjelica flashed her friend a wild grin before bringing the cigar down to his chest. Laertes let out a dramatic gasp, staggering backwards, and Anjelica stumbled towards her, sending them both tumbling to the ground next to a granite headstone. They each mimed a dramatic death, limbs tangled, faces flushed, stifling giggles, and in that moment frozen in time they had never felt more alive.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"Gomez! Oh, Gomez! Wherefore art thou, Gomez?"</p><p>Morticia blinked at the sound of her sister's voice down the hall, and when she glanced back at Gomez, he was grimacing. He took another puff from his cigar, his body shuddering as he coughed out the smoke, and then relaxing, soothed by the vaporizer. He turned to Morticia, and his eyes spelled out his dread of having to face the excitable blonde again.</p><p>"Is she always like this?"</p><p>"The Shakespeare quotes? Yes. Mother was very pleased that they caught on with at least one of us."</p><p>Gomez groaned softly. "She's not even quoting it correctly."</p><p>"Hmm?"</p><p>"She wants to know where I am. Juliet wasn't asking <em> where </em> . She was asking <em> why. </em>"</p><p>Morticia nodded slowly. "Yes, well… if it sounds pretty to her, she doesn't seem to care."</p><p>"That's unfortunate," Gomez mused. "I actually like that passage."</p><p>"So do I," Morticia admitted. Despite her previous disdain, she began to recite the speech. "O be some other name. What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." She wrinkled her nose. "Well, maybe not the part about the roses. They always did smell too strong for me."</p><p>Ophelia's voice echoed down the hallway once more, and Gomez sighed. Resigned to his fate, he rose from his chair and put the cigar out in his suit pocket. Just before he seemed ready to leave the room, he took Morticia's hand in his.</p><p>"Romeo, doff thy name, and for that name, which is no part of thee, take all myself."</p><p>He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, brushing past her to meet Ophelia in the hallway. Morticia heard her sister's joyful squeal, then the thud of his body on the floor, but it was all white noise to her as she gazed at the hand he had touched. That quote meant far more to her than he knew. Within her there was a hope that burned far brighter than the desire for love, a hope that perhaps he read those words in the same way she did. It was almost impossible... but in a world so isolating, she was desperate for someone, anyone, who could understand.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>